Tears streamed down the kindergartener’s face, dampening the collar of her Minnie Mouse sweatshirt. At Hugh Mercer Elementary School, while her classmates were absorbed in a phonics lesson on their tablets, the girl’s headphones sat unplugged on her desk.
Adjusting to kindergarten is a challenge for any child, but it is especially daunting when it involves a new country, a new language, and unfamiliar cultural norms.
For the hundreds of students in Fredericksburg City Public Schools (FCPS) whose families have recently arrived from Afghanistan, three people understand these struggles firsthand. Last spring, FCPS hired Turyalai Rahmani, Morsal Azizi, and Raz Ebrat, three native Afghans, as family liaisons and student advisors. Working through the school division’s Connection Resources Center (CRC), they were hired using a federal grant from the Virginia Department of Social Services’ Office of New Americans.
Rahmani coordinates the program at the division level, while Azizi supports the city’s three elementary schools and Ebrat works with students at Walker-Grant Middle School and James Monroe High School. The team officially serves about 180 Afghan students and 225 parents who qualify under the grant, but their support extends to any Afghan family in need.
“We have an agreement that if an Afghan family comes to us for help, we help them,” said Matt Terry, FCPS Director of Student Programs.
While other school divisions used the grant for translation devices or software, FCPS invested its $469,852 in people. “Our division philosophy was people over programs,” Terry explained.
Building Trust and Navigating Culture
The assignment was simple: draw the flag of your home country. But when English Language Learners teacher Celia Poudrier saw one student’s project at Walker-Grant Middle School, she was puzzled. It wasn’t the Afghan flag she recognized. She called Rahmani and Ebrat, who visited her class the next day.
They identified the drawing as a flag of the Northern Alliance, a militia coalition that fought the Taliban and has reemerged as a symbol of resistance. Understanding the potential for political division it could cause within the diaspora, Ebrat spoke privately with the eighth-grade student. He explained how similar displays had led to conflict in other communities. Together, they ceremoniously tore up the flag and discarded it, resolving a sensitive issue before it could escalate.
Not all interventions are so politically charged. Ebrat has compiled a list of halal-friendly snacks for school nurses, as many common treats like gummy snacks and marshmallows contain gelatin, which is forbidden for Muslim students.
The liaisons’ impact is often seen in small, daily interactions. Rahmani makes a point to greet preschoolers in the hallway with “Salaam,” prompting excited children to break from their lines to greet him back. At the middle school, Ebrat walks the halls between classes, greeting Afghan students in their native language. They respond warmly, shaking both of his hands before continuing to class.
“The same reaction happens whether they are 3 or 33 years old,” Terry said. “They make that happen.”
Bridging the Communication Gap
Ahead of parent-teacher conferences, Azizi knew that paper forms sent home in English would be a barrier for many Afghan families. While making calls to help parents schedule appointments, she encountered the linguistic complexities her community faces. After greeting one mother with “Salam alaikum,” the woman replied in halting English, “Sorry, I don’t speak Arabic.” Azizi, who speaks five languages, switched to Urdu and successfully scheduled the conference.
Language is the most significant hurdle for the district’s Afghan families. School data shows 240 students list Pashto as their first language, and another 240 list Dari, Farsi, or Persian—regional variations of the same language. To overcome this, the liaison team turned to WhatsApp, an app families already used to communicate with relatives in Afghanistan, where mobile data is expensive but internet is more stable.
The team manages a group chat with over 90 families, sharing essential information in English, Pashto, and Dari. This direct line of communication is far more effective than the district’s standard apps or automated translation services.
“A lot of parents don’t have access to the technology the schools are using,” Ebrat said. While services like LanguageLine and ChatGPT exist, they lack a critical component.
“We might have the technology,” Rahmani added, “but we know the culture. That builds trust.”
From Personal Experience to Professional Purpose
Ebrat’s work is inspired by his own past. As a 16-year-old exchange student in Michigan in 2006, he struggled to adapt. His high school principal showed him a simple kindness that he never forgot: allowing him to use his office for daily prayers.
“Most of the time he knew when I was coming, so he would go out of the office so that I had that comfort of being alone,” Ebrat recalled.
Now 34 and a new U.S. citizen, Ebrat provides that same support. When two female students at James Monroe High School needed a private space for prayer, he immediately understood and helped them.
“When I started this role, it took me back to where I was a student,” he said. “I was in the same chair. This is the place where I had to be.”
Azizi, 27, sees herself in the young girls she mentors. Growing up in Ghazni, Afghanistan, she watched her brothers receive educational opportunities while she had to fight for her own, eventually earning a scholarship to study in India. The freedom she experienced there, seeing women driving scooters and pursuing careers, was life-changing.
After returning to Afghanistan, she felt stifled by the restrictive culture. She fled in 2021 when the Taliban regained power and eventually settled in Virginia. Today, she challenges the patriarchal mindsets that persist among some Afghan families in Fredericksburg. She encourages girls to focus on their studies and envision a future beyond traditional roles.
“Here, we are in America,” she tells them. “Don’t be like your mom. Your mom had no choice, but here, it’s different.” Azizi shares her own story as proof: she now supports her entire family back home, something her brothers, who received the family’s investment, cannot do.
Sustaining a Vital Connection
The program’s impact was evident at a recent parent meeting at the Hazel Hill Community Center, where many Afghan families live. Women voiced concerns directly to school officials, with Rahmani and Azizi translating. One mother described difficulty understanding an Iranian interpreter provided by a translation service, while another reported a bus driver who was rude and dropped her child off at a busy intersection.
Faiz, a father of eight, explained that before the liaisons arrived, families had to rely on English-speaking friends for even simple school communications. When his son was disciplined by not being allowed time for prayer, he struggled to advocate for his child’s religious needs. “Now it’s much easier,” he said, turning to Azizi. “Thank you so much.”
The federal grant funding for the liaison program is set to expire in October 2026. Terry has already requested that the positions be included in the school division’s next budget, stressing the importance of their work in a community that has changed dramatically.
“We need to remind people that there’s a need that isn’t obvious,” Terry said. “This isn’t like it used to be. It’s a different Fredericksburg.”
Back at Hugh Mercer Elementary, Azizi knelt beside the crying kindergartener. The teacher explained the girl was struggling with separation anxiety, though her English was excellent. Speaking softly in their shared native Dari, Azizi offered words of comfort.
She likes it when students call her “Khaala Morsal,” or “Auntie Morsal.” To reassure the girl’s mother, they decided to take a selfie together.
“Khande ko (smile),” Azizi said, raising her phone. For the first time that morning, the little girl did.
